Unexpected Connections
by HarleenQuinn
Summary: A lonely Lisa finds unexpected connections to Waylon Smithers and develops a crush on him. Chapter 14 is up!
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Simpsons characters.

Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are very greatly appreciated. Thank you!

Unexpected Connections

A sunshine-hued bus pulled up to the once spotless white curb of Springfield Elementary School. It waited impatiently for the mass of students to board its body with grins plastered across their faces and freedom fluttering inside their hearts. Teachers smiled at each other in tacit, shared happiness as they took their seats in the front of the vehicle. Insouciant chatter, secret games, and cacophonous giggles comprised the symphony of sound that enveloped the bus as it propelled itself away from the school, away from stress, away from hardship, and away from reality. A field trip had begun.

However, while every other individual on the bus was pleased beyond measure, my heart was sullen. While I usually enjoyed going on field trips for the innovative, educational experiences that museums and real-life applications proffered me, a school trip to the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant was not my idea of a worthwhile jaunt.

I had already been to the plant more times than I could count, and none of them had taught me much. The whole exploit seemed frivolous, and I absolutely detested frivolity.

"Why couldn't we have gone to the Springfield Museum of Art? The other 2nd grade class is going," I asked Ms. Hoover as we boarded the bus.

"Oh, Lisa, we've been over this. We're not even studying art in my class."

I riposted, "Well, we're not studying nuclear physics either. We're not studying nuclear energy or nuclear chemistry or nuclear engineering or nuclear propulsion or…"

"Lisa!" shouted Ms. Hoover. "Enough! We're going to the power plant because it is more worthwhile and educational than looking at a bunch of colors and shapes on canvases."

I gasped. I could not believe what I was hearing. "Mrs. Hoover, with all due respect, condemning the value of art is an appalling thing for an instructor to do."

"Well, then, I suppose you will have to live with being appalled. Not everything can go the way you want it, Miss Simpson," Mrs. Hoover replied dismissively.

I was outraged, but was impelled to board the crowded bus along with everyone else. I sat in the back, where I could stare out the window and dream of a more stimulating experience. As my eyes ran their gaze of moving trees of tourmaline and dreamy skies of tangerine, I began to envisage a world where people understood the beauty of the scene as I did so emotionally. At that point, my acquaintance Janie sat next to me and interrupted my fantasy with the harsh, displeasing sound of reality.

"Lisa, Lisa!" Janie shouted as she tapped my shoulder.

I turned from the window to my peer. "Yes, Janie?"

"I have some big news to tell you," she continued with an odd amount of giddiness in her voice.

I looked at her, a bit curiously. "What is it?"

"Joshua just told me that he liked me liked me. And he said Robert likes you!"

I cast my glance over to Joshua and Robert, two boys I had known since kindergarten. Joshua was short, fairly handsome for an 8-year-old, with dark eyes and an ever darker mind. He was the Bart Simpson of the 2nd grade, although he was much more popular with the female populace. Every girl in my class had had a crush on him at one point or another, except me. I never found his wiles captivating or his deviousness charming. Sure, he was interesting in the dangerous sort of way, but he was as dumb as my dad and as cruel as my brother. I wanted no part of him.

Robert, on the other hand, was a bit kinder and smarter. He was an average student, an average friend, and an overall average human being. He was always the follower of Joshua, and never had I once seen him stand up to him. And I enjoyed Robert, as a friend, and it would pain me to see Joshua boss him around like he was some type of slave. But I suppose Robert enjoyed it, because without Joshua, Robert would simply fade into the back of people's minds like he was one more blank face on a swarming street.

I turned back to Janie. "Well, I guess that's all well and good. But I don't like Robert."

"You don't? I told him you did…"

"Janie!" I exclaimed irately. This field trip was growing worse by the second. "Why would you do that?"

Janie nervously played with the soft, milk chocolate curls that cascaded down from her pigtails. "Well, I thought you liked him. You guys would be so cute together! And now that Joshua likes me, we can all hang out together. Wouldn't that be great?"

I sighed. "Yeah, just great." I turned back to stare out the window. The truth was I seldom liked boys. One or two, I had interest in at some point, but I was not like the other 2nd-grade girls, who thought that crushes were possibly the most cataclysmic events of their lives. No, I decided to focus on more meaningful matters of the heart: music, art, culture, the world. I knew that boys would not bring me the happiness I so craved, but that inanimately-directed passions just might.

"Lisa, what's the matter with you? Robert's the second cutest boy in school."

"It's not that. I forgive you…it's just..." I didn't know how to talk to Janie. I didn't think she would understand, but I gave it a shot. "I feel like I can't relate to anyone here. I mean, look at all those cheerful faces. And yet here I am, so disheartened."

"Because of this stupid field trip?"

I looked up with hope. "Well, yeah. You think it's pointless too?"

Janie nodded. "Totally pointless."

I began to get worked up with passion. "Because we really should be going to the art museum. Because we really should be studying the academic, idealistic techniques of Adolphe-William Bouguereau or the emotional influence of the Pre-Raphaelite era, right?"

Janie stared at me with blank eyes. "Well, no. Just because we have to do the work packet on the power plant while we're there. I mean, this is a field trip! We're supposed to be having fun!"

My heart sunk once more. "Oh." I turned back to the window—my only solace—and sighed a lengthy sigh of loneliness. If only I could find one person who would understand me…


	2. Chapter 2

As the bus arrived at the power plant, the only thing I anticipated was seeing my dad, although I was also nervous about this event because he always seemed to find a way to embarrass me. This time it was by the candy machine.

As we were ambling by, looking for our tour guide, I saw my dad with one hand in the candy machine, reaching without success to pull a Twix bar from one of the slots. I waved to him as our eyes met and stopped to give him a hug.

"Lisa! What are you doing here?" my dad asked cheerfully but confusedly.

I chuckled. "Dad, don't you remember? My field trip is today."

"Oh. Well, that explains why you kept saying you couldn't wait to see me at the plant today at breakfast," my dad replied.

I laughed. "Do you need some help with the candy machine?"

"No, no, I got it."

At this point, I knew my dad would be mortified if I helped him in front of my whole class, who had stopped their ambling to watch our father-daughter scene.

"I can get it…" my dad began, frustrated. We watched anxiously as his hand inched up the slots until it found the Twix and grasped onto it. "Gotcha!" I sighed with relief. He hadn't embarrassed me. Yet.

But then he realized his hand was stuck.

From that moment of realization on, I became mortified. In a panic, my dad stuck his other hand through the machine and tried to pull his other out. This obviously didn't work, and he ended up with both hands caught between the slots. I tried to pull his arms out, and some of the class tried to help me, but it was no use.

"Oh, Dad…we'll get you out. We just need to find help," I said, attempting to console him and myself. Then, at precisely the right moment, Mr. Waylon Smithers—the second-highest level executive in the company—came walking by.

"What the hell?" he questioned. Then realizing the company of the children, he cleared his throat and corrected himself: "I mean, what in the world? Simpson, what's going on here?"

"Hi, Mr. Smithers," my dad moaned, embarrassed. "I just kind of…got stuck."

Mr. Smithers put his hand to his forehead in irritation. "Ugh, Simpson, this happens much more frequently than is warranted. I'll help you, but then you have to get back to work. And actually work!"

"Yes, sir."  
"Step back, children," warned Mr. Smithers. He then took his trademark green jacket off and tied it around my dad's waist. We all gasped in awe as Mr. Smithers pulled the sleeves of his jacket with all his strength and my dad, including his hands, were propelled forward against the opposite wall.

"D'oh!" exclaimed my dad instinctively. He then looked at his freed hands and added, "I mean…whoo-hoo! Thank you, Mr. Smithers!"

Mr. Smithers smiled slightly. "You're welcome. Now give me my jacket back, and get back to your post." He then turned to us children and grinned. "Well, you must be the class I was to supposed to tour today. Perfect timing. Let's go."

The class began to follow Mr. Smithers, but I needed to give my dad one more hug.

"I'm sorry for embarrassing you, sweetie," my dad said insecurely.

"That's okay, Dad. It was just lucky that Mr. Smithers happened to come by and knew exactly what to do," I said.

"Yeah, he always knows what to do. Unlike me," my father said, pitying himself.

I gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Dad, you might embarrass me, but you never disappoint me. I love you."

He then smiled. "I love you too, Lisa." He smiled. "But I think you better catch up with the class. Mr. Smithers doesn't like tardiness. I should know."  
I smiled and waved goodbye, then hurried to catch up with the class.

"And this where we tested the radiation for…" Mr. Smithers was in the middle of saying, until he saw me running up to the group. "Ah, Miss Simpson. You've decided to join us." There was a mean edge in his voice, and I didn't like it.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smithers. I was just…"

"Just taking after your dad. I understand," he replied sardonically. He then continued the tour, and I grew hurt. Not just for his misconception of me, but for his misconception of my dad. Well, maybe it wasn't a misconception of my dad, but it was still a hurtful and inappropriate thing to say. I decided I would have a word with him after the tour.

However, the time after the tour seemed like would never arrive. Mr. Smithers blethered on incessantly about the plant, which he obviously adored, and even though the tour was extensive, it was actually intriguing. I admired his devotion and interest in his work, but I was still mad.

"Mr. Smithers?" I said after the other children began exploring the plant with only the supervision of Mrs. Hoover, which I thought was an exceedingly poor idea.

"Hm? Yes, Miss Simpson?" He turned around and looked down at me.

I was nervous. I didn't know why, but I was. I had never had a problem speaking up when something was bothering me, but I was having a problem now. "Um…well, I just wanted to tell you that I…thought your comment about me and my dad back there was very inconsiderate and uncalled for." I looked down momentarily, then up as Mr. Smithers' silence was prolonged. I was relieved to see him look apologetic.

He sighed and then bent down to my level. "I'm sorry, Lisa. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's been a rough day, and I…well, that's no excuse. I'll personally apologize to your father too, if you want."

"No, no. That's okay. He didn't even know you said it. It would just upset and confuse him."

Mr. Smithers smiled. "Well, I hope you can forgive me."

"Heh. Yeah," I said, immediately cursing myself for my ill choice of words. Mr. Smithers then stood up, patted my head affectionately, and walked away. I smiled. And felt myself slightly blushing for some odd reason…


	3. Chapter 3

The next day at school was greatly the same as the ones that preceded it. I sat in my tiny desk, intently listening to Mrs. Hoover despite every fiber of my being opposing this function. I did my work quickly and efficaciously; I completed with success before most of the other students had begun writing the date on their papers. And then I was left to think. This was my favorite time of the school day, the time in each class when I was done with my work and could have the rest of the period to dream, create, and imagine.

It was not that I didn't enjoy learning. It was definitely not that at all. Learning was my deepest pleasure. It was that the fact that I wasn't learning, or at least not as much as I should have been. Occasionally, we would study a branch of science that was foreign to me or a war of which I did not confidently know the details. However, this was the exception, and most days I spent taking unnecessarily precious heed to material I already knew.

However, while most of the school day was less than necessary for me, my thinking portion was more than necessary. I seldom received the opportunity to think without distraction at home, with Bart often initiating some type of calamity, with my dad usually caught in some dilemma, and with my mom trying to help both of them. Sure, I had my room as solace, but I couldn't peacefully think anywhere as long as I knew that my family was in trouble. So, I always ended up pulling up my sleeves and trying to help them too. Despite Mr. Smithers' comment, I was really trying to take after my mom.

And now as I was thinking, I began to reflect on my omnipresent feeling of isolation from the world. I usually tried to avoid thinking about it, because I knew there as no escape from it. But conversely, that morning, I felt like there was no escaping thinking about it. I began to wonder if I was truly alone in this ignorant, immature Earth and came to the conclusion that there must be others out there like me. But perhaps I was alone in the town of Springfield. And this was just as horrible as far as I was concerned, because I knew that I would have to wait until I was an adult to escape beyond the city bounds.

All at once, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I looked around the classroom, spotting Ralph Wiggum downing a jar of paste, Janie and Joshua passing notes, and Ms. Hoover nearly sleeping at her desk. I felt trapped.

I raised my hand. "Um…Ms. Hoover?"

"Yes, Lisa?" groaned Ms. Hoover.

"May I go to the bathroom?"

"Sure. Go ahead. Take the pass."

I hurriedly walked to the front of the classroom, grabbed the pass, and made my way out the door. And out of Springfield Elementary School.

I didn't know what I was doing, but after I had left Ms. Hoover's classroom, I just kept walking. Down the corridor. Across the fields of the playground. Out of the school and down the streets. I told myself to snap out of this destructive trance I was under, but I couldn't. I had to get out of there. I had to break away.

Never having done anything like this before, I kind of wished my brother were by my side to instruct me about how to properly execute a ditching of school. But he wasn't. He was in class. I, Lisa Simpson, was on the run and Bart Simpson was in class. The world didn't make sense to me anymore.

I just kept walking, following my heart to wherever it happened to lead me. Which just so happened to be the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant.

I convinced myself that I must have found my way here because I wanted to see my dad, although a small part of my heart knew that wasn't entirely true. As I paced down the hallways of the plant, I found myself turning my head at every corner, expecting and maybe wanting to see someone. My dad, my dad. That's who I want to see, I told myself, although I knew that if that was true I would go directly to his station instead of meandering aimlessly past others' posts.

Temporarily snapping out of whatever spell I was under, I directed myself towards the candy machine, hoping to find my dad there. However, it was Mr. Smithers whom I found, sitting on the small bench beside it, gulping down Jolly Ranchers like they were pills.

"Mr. Smithers?" I asked as I approached him. He looked down at me, surprised.

"Miss Simpson? What are you doing here?" he asked.

I didn't answer. How could I tell him I ran away from school to come see…my dad?  
"I have the day off."

"You look sad," he then added. "Here, take a seat next to me. You want a Jolly Rancher?"

I smiled and tried not to beam. "Yes, please, sir." I took a seat and gladly accepted the candy.

"So, what's wrong, Miss Simpson?" Mr. Smithers questioned.

I sighed. "Well, you wouldn't…I mean you have more important things to do around here than to listen to my problems, Mr. Smithers."

"I'm on my break. Please. Go ahead."

"Well, I just feel so alone sometimes," I started insecurely. Mr. Smithers nodded, encouraging me to continue, which relieved me a bit. "I just get so tired of being around people who have nothing on their minds but playtime and boys and money and pleasure."

Mr. Smithers asked, "People who spend all day talking about themselves and insignificant matters, when there are so many more innermost and essential things in the world, and they don't even seem to realize it?"

My mouth gaped open and my eyes grew wide. "Yes, yes, exactly, Mr. Smithers! You understand!"

He smiled. "I certainly do. Story of my life."

"Well, how did you manage to get past it? How did you manage to grow up and find happiness?"

Mr. Smithers pushed his descending glasses back against his eyes and shrugged. "I'm not sure I have. Most of the time, I just don't let this town get to me. I ignore the ignorance, which I know is very ironic, and I put aside the insolence, and I overlook the emptiness. I focus on my work and…some other things. And that helps me attain some sense of contentment, but I couldn't help you with the finding happiness part."

I nodded. "Perhaps happiness is too lofty a goal for people like us."

"No, don't think that. It's just me. I'm sure you will…" Mr. Smithers started, but then he looked to my side at the bathroom pass that was resting on the seat next to me. "Miss Simpson, did you run away from school?"

I giggled nervously. "Um…well, no…I walked away. Heh."

Mr. Smithers now looked irritated. I wished more than anything that I hadn't made him angry with me, but I did. "Come on, let's get you back to school. I'll drive you."

"But Mr. Smithers…"

"Miss Simpson, you don't want truancy on your records, do you?"

I thought about it and knew the answer. "No. I don't."

"Well, then, we really should hurry. I only have twenty more minutes for my break."

Feeling quite ashamed about my fleeing from school, I said, "I'm sorry I ruined your break, Mr. Smithers."

Mr. Smithers smiled and waved his hand facetiously. "I was going out to get some lunch anyway."

I smiled weakly. "Are you going to tell my dad that I ran away from school?"

"Not if you promise never to do it again."

"I promise, Mr. Smithers. I promise!"

"Okay. Then, it can be our secret," Mr. Smithers said as he opened the car door for me. I hopped inside, my heart giddy. Mr. Smithers and I had a secret. We had a real conversation. We had a connection. Even if truancy did go down on my record, it was undeniably worth it.

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 4

NOTE TO THE READERS: I just wanted to clear up the timeline for this story. This story is intended to take place before most of Lisa's main interactions with Mr. Smithers on the show. This is before she sees his screensaver of Burns or helps him on the mountain, et cetera. Just wanted to make that clear, for purposes of this story making sense later on:) Thank you all for reading and reviewing. It truly means a lot to me! Hope you enjoy the next chapters, and please continue to R&R!

The rest of the school week fluttered by more rapidly than I was accustomed to. Every day seemed surreal, as my thinking periods were filled with new ideas for jazz compositions and innovative art designs, but mostly Mr. Smithers. I told myself that it wasn't a crush. No, it couldn't be that. He was much older than me, and besides, Lisa Simpson didn't waste her time with meaningless things like crushes. It was just a fascination. That was all.

I had been lying to myself a lot lately, and I secretly knew it. But I learned that denial often walked hand in hand with infatuation, so I continued to convince myself that my preoccupation with Mr. Smithers was anything but a crush. And the different part of denial was that the only person I had to convince was myself. Denial wasn't like having to persuade others to believe in the threats of global warming. Denial was simply persuading myself to believe in my own heart's lies, although sometimes this was the most challenging and painstaking persuasion of them all.

However, while I was still convinced that a crush on Mr. Smithers was nonexistent in my heart, I began to wonder if I would have to start convincing others. My dad seemed a bit curious when I asked him if I could go to the plant with him on Saturday.

"What? Lisa, Saturday's your day to have fun! Why would you want to come to the stupid, old plant with me?" My dad questioned, bewildered.

"It's not stupid!" I exclaimed, but then I remembered I had to keep my cool. "Um…I mean, well, I think the plant is very interesting. Isn't it okay if I take an interest in my father's work?" I flashed him an innocent, winning smile.

My dad looked at me, confused. "Well, I guess so." Then he grinned widely. "You want to play Space Patrol and spin around in the chairs and get sick off tons of candy again?"

I smiled weakly. "Yeah, sure, Dad." As long as I still have time to talk to Mr. Smithers, I thought silently.

"Great! Oh, Lisa, I love when you come to work with me. Being with you is actually more fun than sleeping and eating donuts all day," my dad said.

I smiled and gasped. "Wow, thank you, Dad! That sure is a compliment coming from you!" I giggled.

"It sure is." My dad and I exchanged a smile, but as we sauntered out of the house, guilt suddenly hit me like a sack of stones. I had just lied to my dad and was exploiting his love for me. I felt nauseated with shame, but then I told myself another lie.

You didn't lie, Lisa, I told myself. You wanted to go play with your dad. That's the only reason you wanted to go. What other reason could exist? None. That's right. None. Remember that, Lisa.

It had been a couple hours at the plant and there was still no sign of Mr. Smithers. I was beginning to become agitated. My dad finally had to go to the bathroom after his fifth can of Buzz Cola, and in the meantime, I was left alone in his station.

As I waited and stared at the multitude of blinking buttons on the control panel, something abruptly came over me. Something dark and selfish and so not me. I don't know what it was or why I let it control me, but I suddenly felt my hand knocking over an open can of Buzz Cola on the control panel.

As small alarms began to go off, I just stared at my horrible act. Mr. Smithers came running in, quickly plugging and unplugging outlets, fixing switches, and several other maneuvers that I couldn't describe. The alarms went off and the control panel cooled.

"Thank God!" Mr. Smithers exclaimed, panting with relief. He then turned around to me, furious. "Miss Simpson, did you do this? How could you do this? If I didn't arrive here in time, this entire sector could have been destroyed!"

I hated myself more in that moment that I ever had before. I wanted to tell Mr. Smithers that I didn't even know why I did it and that I couldn't believe I would ever do something like that. That was just not me. Or at least, that was not what I used to be before this…fascination. But instead, I turned to my new friend: the lie. "I didn't do it, Mr. Smithers, I swear! It was this guy. He came running in here with a death wish for us all or something." I sounded like a first-rate idiot.

Mr. Smithers looked at me suspiciously. "What did the guy look like?"

"Um…he was wearing a normal white shirt and had brown hair and brown eyes." I attempted to offer the most general and vague description I possibly could. I didn't want anyone taking the fall for what I did, but that collective 'anyone' included me.  
"Hmmm…I'll look into it," Mr. Smithers said as he walked away. "If you remember any other specifics about the guy, come talk to me."

And for a brief moment, I considered thinking up new specifics just so I could talk to him. _Oh, Lisa, what have you gotten yourself into? Lying, exploitation, ruination of control panels? What is wrong with you? _

The worst part was that I knew what wrong with me. I loved what was wrong with me. But now I absolutely hated myself.

Was this what falling in love was supposed to be like? Was it supposed to be the whirlwind of emotions, this alteration of character, this painful, wonderful tornado warping through my heart and turning me into someone I didn't recognize? I wasn't really sure. I had no prior experience with it.

I looked at the control panel and sighed. My dad came walking in a minute later, blissfully unaware of the last events of my day. "Hey, Lisa. You want to go to the candy machine?"

I nodded and tried to smile. I desperately wanted to ask him: "Is it worth it to love someone else when it makes you hate yourself?" I looked up at him, smiling as we walked out of the station together. I wanted to ask him so badly. "Dad?"

"Yes, Honey?"

I hesitated, staring at him. Then I looked down. "Do you think you could you get me some Jolly Ranchers this time?"


	5. Chapter 5

The next time I was at the plant, which was the Saturday subsequent to the one on which I nearly demolished my dad's sector with my licentious intentions, I made myself out to be an even greater fool than Mr. Smithers already likely thought I was.

On that Saturday, while on my way to the water fountain by the cafeteria, I overheard what sounded like an intense conversation between Mr. Smithers and Mr. Charles Montgomery Burns, the highest-level executive in the company. I knew I should have kept walking on my merry way to the fountain, but instead, I lingered by the open door and eavesdropped.

"What were you thinking, hiring that woman as our new controls system design engineer? She's an embarrassment to our corporation!" Mr. Burns exclaimed with ire.

Mr. Smithers replied, bewildered, "But sir, she has a degree from Dartmouth, a mass of experience with HVAC design, current security clearance…"

"I don't care. She's not right for this team."

Mr. Smithers attempted to remain calm. "Why? Because she's not a man? Or because she doesn't look like Marge Simpson?"

"Who's Marge Simpson?"

Mr. Smithers sighed. "Mr. Burns, Ms. Stanley was the best applicant we received."

Mr. Burns stood up from his chair and raised his fist in the air histrionically. "Well, it doesn't matter. I don't like her. So, fire her and go find someone else before I fire _you_!" He then lifted a muffin off his breakfast plate and hurled it weakly at Mr. Smithers, who merely groaned with displeasure and left Mr. Burns' office. I hid quickly before Mr. Smithers could witness my prying and waited until he had turned the corner before I walked into Mr. Burns' office.

"Mr. Burns?"

"Smithers, I thought I told you to leave and fire…" Mr. Burns looked around, and upon not seeing his friend, looked down at me. "Oh, you're not Smithers at all. Who are you?"

"I'm Lisa Simpson. Homer Simpson's daughter."

"I'm blanking on both names, but no matter. What do you want?"

I cleared my throat. "I just wanted to tell you that your maltreatment of your employees is repulsive."

"What are you talking about?"

I began with the most obvious issue, the one that would have previously angered me the most, but now was secondary in my heart. "Firing that worker because she is a woman! That is sexism in its purest and most abhorrent form. And moreover, I heard how you talked to Mr. Smithers, how you abused him."

Mr. Burns rolled his eyes. "Why, little girl, I merely threw a muffin at him. And by God, it didn't hurt him."

"Maybe not physically, but…"

"I thought you said you were Homer Simpson's daughter."

I hesitated, confused. "Yes, I am."

"Then why are you coming in here defending Smithers?" Mr. Burns questioned, annoyed. "What's it to you?"

I paused and looked downward. "I don't…know."

"Well, then I suggest you evacuate my office immediately before I fire your father. You think you can just come in here and question Montgomery Burns? Pish posh. Stupid girl."

I sadly turned away and was about to take my first step in the direction of the door when I saw Mr. Smithers standing by it. "Miss Simpson? What are you doing here?" he asked. I froze. _Oh, God…_

Making my fear a reality, Mr. Burns decided to answer Smithers' question for me. "She came in here to insult me and question me in your defense. Did you put her up to this?"

I felt like dying from mortification and fear. Mr. Smithers firstly looked shocked, then angry. "No, I did not." He then turned to me coldly. "Miss Simpson, I don't know what's going on with you. Being here all the time, messing with the equipment, snooping around. But I think it's best for everyone if you stay out of this corporation's affairs. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Tell your father he can have an early day so he can take you home."

I nodded once more and attempted to walk with dignity out of the office. Once I was gone from Mr. Smithers' sight, I felt like I might begin crying. I had made myself out to be a fool of the highest degree in the eyes of one of the most people who I had desperately wished would not view me that way. I had betrayed my values; I had been an embarrassment to myself and to my family. I had always looked down on girls who did stupid things because of boys, and now I was one of them. And I just wanted to weep, but I was too ashamed to do that as well.

That night at home, I could barely eat my dinner, which of course roused concern in my mother. "Lisa, honey, are you all right? You've barely touched your vegetable salad."

I couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm fine, Mom. Just tired, I guess."

"Hmmm…well, did you have fun at the plant?" my mom asked, trying to cheer me up.

"Yeah, sure," I mumbled.

Bart then piped, "My day was totally awesome, Mom. I dared Milhouse to stick two pencils in his nostrils and then bark like a walrus when Ms. Krabappel's back was turned, and he did, but then the pencils got stuck up there, and he had to get sent to the nurse. Haha!"

My mom looked at Bart disapprovingly. "Hmmm…Bart, you shouldn't dare people to do things like that. He could have gotten seriously hurt." Then she looked back at me with worry. "Lisa, if there is anything you need to talk about…" Luckily, at that moment, the phone rang.

"Hello?" my mom answered. She looked surprised by the voice on the other end. "My daughter Lisa or my daughter Maggie?...Oh, I'm sorry. I thought maybe you would like to speak to Maggie…Um, okay, I'll get her…Lisa, it's for you. It's Mr. Smithers?"

I almost jumped out of my seat with shock and excitement. I ran to the phone and put it to my ear with anxiety. "Hello?"

"Um, hello, Miss Simpson. It's Waylon Smithers. You know, from the power plant?"

I wanted to say, 'Of course, I know!' but I decided to play it cool. "Oh, yeah, sure."

"Well, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior at the plant today. I know you were only trying to help, and I should have been thanking rather than condemning you."

I took a deep breath. "Oh, Mr. Smithers, I'm the one who should be apologizing. What I did was completely crossing the line. I don't know what I was thinking, but if you forgive me, I promise not to do it again."

"Of course, I forgive you. Do you forgive me?"

"Absolutely."

"Great! Then, I'll see you tomorrow at the gala?" Mr. Smithers asked.

"What gala?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was he asking me to a party?

Mr. Smithers responded, "Oh, your father didn't tell you? There is a company benefit dance tomorrow evening, and every worker's family is invited."

_Of course, he didn't tell me. He probably forgot or was planning to blow it off. _"No, he didn't tell us yet, but it sounds like a lot of fun. I'll definitely be there."

"Excellent. I look forward to seeing you and your family tomorrow then. And know that you can come by the plant whenever you like," Mr. Smithers said.

I smiled. "Thank you so much, Mr. Smithers."

"Have a good night, Miss Simpson."

"You too, sir." I hung up, beaming, and turned to face my family. It felt like waking up from some beautiful dream.

"What was that about, Lisa?" my mom asked. I told her and the family about the benefit tomorrow and couldn't stop smiling as I did so. My mom and dad didn't seem to notice the sudden happiness I was expelling, but my brother gave me a knowing look. And this scared me beyond measure.


	6. Chapter 6

The next night I spent about an hour getting ready, longer than I ever had before, and this wasn't even including the time I put into choosing an outfit and accessories the night before. Now I was clad in a fuchsia, one-strap dress gilded with sparkles and was putting on my bright white, lace-up sandals. My usual band of white pearls reclined on my dresser for the night, as I had chosen a more impressive collar of pure gold with a sole diamond at its tip. I sang a little ballad as I got ready, unaware that my brother was standing at my door. That is, until he started snickering.

I gasped and jumped as I saw him. "Bart, what are you doing, watching me? I could've been naked, for all you know!"

Between laughs, Bart replied, "An hour after your shower? Please, even you're not that much of a prima donna."

"Well, what are you doing, then?" I asked angrily.

"Just listening to you sing. Beautiful sound, by the way," Bart chuckled. "'Oh, there's something in the air tonight. Something electric! The point where love ignites the center of the heart!"

"Bart, shut up!" I threw a pillow at him as he continued to imitate me.

"Whoa, sis. Calm down, I'm just messing with you," he tried.

I turned away and finished lacing up my shoes, attempting to ignore my brother so that he would leave for lack of attention. But he didn't. Just my luck.

"So, have you told Dad yet?" he inquired.

"Told him what?"

"That you're lusting after his boss. Heh-heh."

My eyes grew wide and filled with rage. "I am not! Bart, that's disgusting!"

"Is it?"

"Yes!"

"Then why were you so smiley and giddy after talking to him last night? And what's with your fancy getup, huh?" Bart questioned, smiling deviously.

I luckily knew how to respond. "I was smiley because we had a fight, and he forgave me, and it makes me happy when issues are resolved. And in case you didn't realize, we are going to a fancy party, which explicates the fancy getup."

"You've thought about this a lot, haven't you? Trying to convince yourself you don't have a crush on Mr. Smithers?" Bart said. "But you do! Lisa likes Smithers! Lisa likes Smithers!"

"Shut up!" I shouted as I tackled Bart to the ground, commencing a mild physical fight until my mom and dad rushed in.

"What's going on in here?" my mom exclaimed as my dad pulled us off each other.

I gave Bart a menacing look, indicating his future of pain and turmoil if he said anything about our discussion. He gulped. "Um…we were fighting over which one of us loves you more."_Bad cover-up, Bart,_ I thought, seething.

My dad looked at us suspiciously. "Come on, what were you really fighting about?"

Bart and I looked at each other, unsure of what to say. I attempted, "Fine. We were fighting over who gets the last Drumstick in the freezer." _A bit more believable. _

My mom replied, "Hmmm…well, neither of you get it tonight. There will be dessert served after dinner at the benefit."

"Okay, Mom. We won't fight anymore," Bart and I said in unison, prompting our parents to leave the room.

But before Bart and I could resume our fight, my dad entered the room again. "Lisa, actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"Bus-ted," Bart sang quietly to me as he left the room.

Ugh, I was disliking my brother more and more every day, but I held my anger in and said, "Yes, Dad?"

"Um…well, I was just thinking…you and Mr. Smithers have been getting along pretty well…" he started awkwardly. I held my breath. Was he catching on too? And if he was catching on, then Mr. Smithers must have known for certain. My heart rate increased at once. "And I just wanted to ask you: are you trying to replace me as your dad?"

Relief washed over me like a cool, invigorating tide. "Oh, Dad, of course not! It's definitely not like that."

Then Bart popped his head in and said, "Yeah, because then it would be pretty incestuous."

"What?" my dad asked. I panicked.

Bart continued, "It's not a dad thing. It's a love thing!"

"Bart, shut up!"

"Lisa, what's Bart talking about?"

Bart laughed and I clenched my fists. "Nothing. He's talking about nothing."

"Oh, okay. Then why I am still here listening to him? I need a beer," my dad asked, exiting my room.

I then coolly yet furiously approached my brother, not wanting to have to use my fists but prepared to do so. "Bart, I'm warning you now: if you don't shut your mouth about this bizarre theory of yours, I will permanently injure you."

Bart scoffed. "Oh, yeah? I wonder what Mom and Dad will think about that."

"Maybe I won't injure you physically. But I bet you wouldn't be too happy if I told Dad that you charged $1,000 on his credit card for that stupid trampoline, and I bet Mom would love to find out all about your collection of fake IDs."

Bart uncrossed his arms. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would," I said, finally being the one to leave my room, leaving Bart standing there in contemplation.

_Lisa, don't let him get to you. This night is going to be great. This night is going to be magical_, I told myself, hating Bart for putting me in this sour mood.

"Are you ready to go, kids?" my mom asked from downstairs. I began walking down and Bart followed. I looked up at him.

"Yes, Mom, we're ready," I answered as Bart and I shared a final glance at each other.


	7. Chapter 7

The car ride to the party was mostly peaceful, except for Bart's occasional suggestive comments and the possibility of my mom getting suspicious when I asked her if I could wear some of her lipstick. She declined my request, saying I was too young to wear makeup, which only aggravated me. She then questioned my motives and for a moment, I almost wanted to come clean. But then I saw the way Bart was staring at me with mockery and the way my mom was staring at me with concern, and I just couldn't face telling them the truth, which I still was half-denying myself.

When we arrived at the gala, I scanned the room for Mr. Smithers, who I almost immediately found seated next to his boss, Mr. Burns. I supposed they had made up quickly after their little argument, and by the way Mr. Smithers was smiling at Mr. Burns, I thought maybe the latter had offered a just apology. And maybe I provoked this apology! I smiled inside and excused myself from my family to go say hello.

"Hello, Mr. Smithers!" I exclaimed, perhaps a bit too elatedly.

He turned around and smiled. "Why, hello there, stranger. I'm glad you and your family could make it." _He was excited to see me. He was glad I could make it! _"You can invite your family to sit with us if you'd like."

I considered this option. My dad scarfing down fried chicken as Bart tried to aim a spitball at an unsuspecting guest. I shook my head. "Well, they are already sitting with another table. But I can sit here." I took a seat and suddenly felt very out of place, despite Mr. Smither's smile, which consoled me just a bit.

"Smithers, who is this little pest that's sitting with us?" Mr. Burns asked.

"This is Lisa Simpson, sir."

"Simpson, eh?" Mr. Burns questioned. "Isn't that the little nuisance that insulted me in my office the other day?"

Mr. Smithers looked down, unsure. "Um…well, yes. But she apologized, and well, let's put it behind us, shall we, sir?"

Mr. Burns shrugged and took a sip of his flamboyant cocktail. "Yes, I suppose we shall for tonight. But you watch out, little girl. Yes, you watch out. No one questions Montgomery Burns."

I must have look afraid because Mr. Smithers bent down to my level and whispered, "He says that about everyone, but he never remembers the revenges he promises. Trust me. He'll forget you ever existed tomorrow."

"That's comforting," I said, smiling weakly.

"So, Miss Simpson, how do you like the festivity?" asked Mr. Smithers.

I looked around me for the first time. The hall was glamorously decorated, with silver- and pearl-hued balloons at every corner, a perfectly polished dance floor, sleek chairs, and candles on each table that filled the room with the scent of sandalwood. I breathed it in and sighed contently. "I love it, Mr. Smithers. And it's been embellished impeccably. What could have been a plain and uninteresting dance hall now rivals Vincent Van Gogh's 'The Dance Hall in Arles'."

Mr. Smithers look at me with a surprised and delighted expression. "I love that painting. It's so bold and abundant with figures yet simple and almost sad, I think."

"Me too!" I placed my hand over my heart histrionically, yet unintentionally. "I'm usually more of an academic art fan, but there is just something about Van Gogh's works…"

"Smithers, get me another drink, will you? This cocktail seems to have an umbrella in it, and I don't know how it got there, so I'm not taking any chances," Mr. Burns interrupted, much to my dismay.

Mr. Smithers looked over to Mr. Burns with a smile. "Will do, sir." He then turned to me. "I'll be right back. Would you like a soda or something?"

I tried to veil my consternation "Oh, no. That's okay. Thank you, though."

When Mr. Smithers left, I was left alone with Mr. Burns, and he wouldn't stop staring at me with a very odd expression. Finally, I had to murder the silence. "Mr. Burns, is everything okay? I really am sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to…"

"Oh, Lisa, it's not about that," Mr. Burns said. He vacillated. "You and Smithers seem rather chummy. But I'm his best friend and I have been for the last two decades and a half, and I won't let some annoying little girl take his attention away from me." He then must have realized how bizarre his little outburst sounded, because he looked around embarrassedly and then lowered his voice. "So…um…keep that in mind, eh?"

"Well, I'm not looking for a chum."

Mr. Burns raised an eyebrow. "Then what are you looking for?"

My palms began to sweat. "Um…a mentor. That's all. So, you don't have to worry. Heh."

Mr. Burns looked less than convinced. "Hmmm…"

I smiled uneasily as Mr. Smithers returned with Mr. Burns' drink and one for himself. "There you go, Mr. Burns. A firefly cocktail, sans mysterious umbrellas."

Mr. Burns chuckled. "Thank you, Smithers."

Mr. Smithers then seated himself between me and Mr. Burns. We all sat in awkward quietude. "Is everything all right, guys?" asked Mr. Smithers, to which Mr. Burns and I nodded in unanimity. Now I wished I had a drink. And not a soda. I sighed. I guessed no one wanted this romance to happen. But that didn't mean I wouldn't let it.


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: The song I use in this chapter and a bit in Chapter 6 is "Something in the Air" by Lila McCann. I do not own this song.

"So, then I say to the guy, 'Yasemwa watu wale ni wageni,'" Mr. Smithers recited.

I listened intently. "What does that mean?"

"Say, they tell me those people are strangers!" Mr. Smithers and I began laughing at his humorous anecdote as I caught a glimpse of Mr. Burns staring at us with covetous eyes. He had been staring at us like that the entire night, and I tried to ignore it.

"Oh, Mr. Smithers, I can't believe you did that!" I exclaimed.

"Sometimes I can't either!" he replied, impeding his chuckles. He sighed happily. "Oh, Miss Simpson, Africa's an interesting place. I'll tell you that."

I smiled and stared giddily at my night's companion. He was so worldly and refined and so darn smart. I'd never met anyone like him. And just as I was about to ask for another interesting story, my mom approached our table and made her presence known with her trademark grunt.

"Why, hello, Marge!" Mr. Burns said gleefully, looking my mom up and down in a perverted way that I sorely disliked. "Are you coming to sit with us?"

"Hello, Mr. Burns. No, I just needed to talk to Lisa."

_Oh, please. Just let me stay here. Don't ruin this. Please. _"Sure, Mom. What did you need?"

As Mr. Burns and Mr. Smithers began to talk, my mom lowered her voice and said, "I was just wondering if you'd like to come sit with your family for the rest of the night."

I was afraid she would ask me this. I didn't no how to respond. In the past, I would have sycophantically obeyed her and gone against my own wishes for what my family wanted or needed. I had sacrificed my personal happiness for that of my family's all my life. But I wasn't sure I could do it this time. "Mom…I…" I looked into her wide, concerned eyes. "I…"

She looked down. "Oh. I see," she said, keeping her eyes to the ground. "Well, if you change your mind, there's always a seat for you at the Simpson table."

I nodded and tried not to meet her eyes. "Thanks, Mom," I whispered.

She nodded and walked off, back to a family that—without me—she really couldn't relate to. I sighed with guilt, but tried to push it out of my stomach. Which actually proved not as difficult as I would have thought when my favorite song began to play. I gasped. "Oh, this is my favorite song!"

Mr. Smithers turned from Mr. Burns to me. "Really? You like Lila McCann?"

"Do I!" I exclaimed, watching all the couples out on that shiny dance floor, wishing Mr. Smithers and I were one of them. I sang along quietly, "Under a harvest moon, love is about to bloom." I looked over at Mr. Smithers and, completely swept away by the moment, did something I never thought I was bold enough to do. "Mr. Smithers, would you like to dance with me?"

He looked surprised and unsure. He hesitated, and then smiled. "Well, sure, Miss Simpson. Why not?"

Of course, we stood far apart as we danced, but I didn't care. My hands were in his, the music was ideal and my first slow dance with a boy was with one I truly liked. It was perfect. I listened to the lyrics of the song and internally beamed. 'You never see it coming, no. There isn't a warning, no reason, not a sign. But you can feel it everywhere. There's something in the air.'

As Mr. Smithers and I danced, I felt my mother's concerned stare, my brother's delighted and deriding one, and Mr. Burns' almost envious one. _Ignore them. Ignore them_, I told myself.

But I couldn't ignore one couple: a middle-aged worker and the most beautiful woman in the room. The woman Mr. Smithers suddenly couldn't stop staring at. Finally, the couple was dancing next to us, and the eyes of the woman's met Mr. Smithers'. "Maggie?" he said with shock. "Is that you?" I watched the scene with curiosity and envy and anger at the possibility of my perfect moment being ruined.

The woman smiled slyly. "Hello, Waylon. It's been a long time."

Mr. Smithers' hands linked with mine began to perspire. "M-Maggie…what…what are you doing here?"

"As you can see, I have a date. It's not like I came to see you. Don't worry about that," she said, her green, catlike eyes speaking nothing of her true feelings.

Mr. Smithers continued to falter in his speech. "But…I mean…"

"And I see you have yourself a date too," she said, looking down at me, smiling mockingly. "Going for the younger set instead of the older set this time, Waylon? Hm. And her age isn't the only thing that is wrong about her for you, now, is it?"

As his face turned red with ire, Mr. Smithers said, "Maggie, please, let's try to be civil, shall we?"

"Of course, we shall," she said unconvincingly. "It was nice talking to you, Waylon. Have a good life, and tell Mr. Burns I said, 'Hello." This last bit was delivered with obvious edge and hatred, lacking her veil of affected civility. At this point, she took her date's hand and left the dance floor.

Mr. Smithers sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Miss Simpson. I think I need a drink." We began to walk off the dance floor together when I asked pryingly, "Ex-girlfriend?"

"Worse. Ex-wife," he replied, pouring himself a drink and sitting down anxiously with it. He looked at me sadly and said, "Maybe you should go sit with your family for the rest of the night. I don't think I'll be very good company."

I hesitated, then nodded dejectedly. "Okay, Mr. Smithers."

"Thank you for your company for the better half of the evening," Mr. Smithers said. "I'll see you at the plant?"

I smiled weakly. "Yeah. I'll see you."


	9. Chapter 9

Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are greatly appreciated!

The day after the party, I was experiencing a thesaurus of sentiments. This seemed to be a usual state for me now that I was in love. I sighed and swung back and forth on a swing during recess at school alone. No one seemed to notice my pensive mood, and why should they have? It wasn't really that my pensiveness was different. It was more the cause of it that had changed from matters of the world to matters of the heart.

Finally, someone approached me and sat on the swing next to me. Unfortunately, that someone happened to be my brother. "Hey, Lis. What's with the long face? I thought you and Mr. Smithers got on pretty well last night." He smiled mischievously. "Aw, what's the matter? He didn't take you back to his apartment like you were hoping? Aw, I'm sorry. Maybe on the second date, though. Don't worry. He seems like a traditional guy. He's probably just waiting for the right time."

"Oh, shut up, Bart. That's sordid and distasteful," I said in a monotone voice. I was too contemplative to even sound angry.

Bart laughed and continued to taunt me. "Come on, Lisa. You know you want to. It's okay. Everyone has sexual feelings. Maybe not for a middle-aged nerd, but whatever."

"Bart, I said, 'shut up', okay?" Now there was an elevation in my voice, not one of anger, but of desperation for something more than teasing. And luckily, Bart recognized that.

"I'm sorry, Lis. I was just kidding. Kind of, at least. But really, what's going on?"

I swung back and forth, eyeing the white granules of sand beneath my feet. "Well, it's just…" I looked up at Bart. I knew that if I was going to tell him my current problems, I would have to admit the truth. I just had to talk to someone, and although I wasn't positive he was the right person, I would have been too embarrassed to talk to my parents about it and my friends, my practically nonexistent friends, would never understand. I cringed inside and took a deep breath. "Well, first, I suppose I have to admit it. I do…have a very slight crush on Mr. Smithers."

"A very slight crush?"

I groaned, annoyed. "Fine, a hopeless infatuation."

"That's more like it, I think," Bart said, smiling. We were quiet for a moment. "So, what do you like about him anyway? He's such a boring square."

I grew irritated. "Well, I happen to like squares. And he's definitely not boring. Quite the opposite. Oh, Bart, he was top in his class at Stanford University! He stands up for women's rights! He is an art expert! He speaks Swahili!" I sighed dreamily, getting lost in my own world before realizing that Bart was staring at me. I giggled embarrassed and nervously and said, "Um…well…anyway, that's not the point. The problem is, I had a wonderful time at the party. I just grew to like Mr. Smithers even more. Stop making that face, and listen to me! Okay, so, you probably saw that when we were dancing, Mr. Smithers' ex-wife approached us and they got into a bit of an altercation."

Bart's mouth gaped open. "That scorching hot babe was Mr. Smithers' ex-wife? Whoa, man. He'll never go for you after that chick. Puh-leez!"

"Bart!" I exclaimed. "Just listen for a moment, will you?"

Bart then pretended to zip his lips and nodded like an angel. I suspiciously continued, "So, when they were talking, Mrs. Smithers made some odd comments about Mr. Smithers. Like that he usually went for older people. And that there was something about me besides my age that was wrong for Mr. Smithers."

Bart began to laugh. "Lisa, I love to be the one to break this to you, but Mr. Smithers is a total closet case."

"What?!"

"Oh, yeah. You didn't pick up on that after these times you spent with him?" Bart asked. "Tsk, tsk. Some genius you are!"

My heart felt stabbed. "What are you talking about? How do you know if Mr. Smithers is that way?"

Bart sighed. "Well, I guess I don't _know_. But in the past, there sure have been signs. And even if there weren't, who would divorce that babe if they weren't gay? Seriously."

I contemplated this and tried to still the sense of dread that weaved throughout my body. "Well, we can't assume anything."

"Of course not. That's why we're going to ditch school and go down to Springfield's gay community right now. I'll prove it to you."

I looked back at class and remembered the promise I made to Mr. Smithers about not ditching anymore. Then I looked to my brother and considered that I would only be focused on this problem anyway if I were in class. I tapped my fingers nervously on my thighs, turned to the school, then back to Bart, and diffidently made my decision. "Okay. Let's go. Do you have any money for the trolley?"

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing thus far. It means a lot to me:) Also, I'm holding a little contest. Whoever gets this question right first will get a character named after them in this story. :) Question: Why did I name Smithers' ex-wife Maggie?


	10. Chapter 10

Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are greatly appreciated!

"Now, I know you might find it odd that I know exactly where Springfield's gay community is, but…" Bart started as we hopped off the trolley together.

"I was a bit curious," I admitted.

"Well, I know it might seem odd, but...uh…it's Milhouse who always wants to come here," Bart explained implausibly. "Yeah, Milhouse."

I shrugged it off and we began to walk down the streets of the 'hidden' part of Springfield, where parents would never let their kids go, where adults themselves preferred to stay away from. The secrecy and supposed scandal that surrounded this community both shocked and appalled me, like so many other things in the world I was born into.

Whenever my family would set foot here, by some chance of wrong directions or whatnot, my dad would start growing anxious and even my mom would seem uncomfortable. But I knew there was nothing to fear or loathe here. These were just people like all of us, no different. I was never less than happy here, except for that day with Bart. That day when I looked like any random, pointlessly apprehensive heterosexual. I hoped people didn't get the wrong idea by the look of trepidation that must have been scribbled across my face.

"Bart, this is stupid. Mr. Smithers is probably at work now. And even if he wasn't, it's not like every gay person hangs out here," I pointed out, wanting to turn around quickly and go back to school.

Bart shrugged. "Well, maybe. But if we don't find him here, we can at least ask people if they know him, and that'll give us our answer."

I supposed that made sense, even though I tried to think of an argument to no avail. "Why does it even matter so much to you, Bart?"

"It doesn't. Just a good reason to get out of school," he replied cavalierly, but I knew my brother better than that.

"I don't buy that. Come on, Bart. Tell me the truth," I insisted.

"That is the truth," Bart said, putting his hands in the pockets of his standard sky-hued shorts. "That and…well…it's better for you to find out now about Mr. Smithers before this crush goes too far." He said the next part in a low mumble. "It'll hurt less for you this way."

Even though he was trying to be barely audible, I heard his confession and smiled. "Thank you, Bart. I just hope there's nothing to find out."

----------

Bart and I sauntered through the clean streets of gay Springfield for a while, and having seen no glimpse of Mr. Smithers, decided to proceed to plan B. Bart eyed an attractive, well-put-together, middle-aged man standing outside an ice cream parlor smoking a cigarette and looking rather dashingly sad. "That guy right there. He looks like Mr. Smithers' type. Let's ask him."

"Bart, I don't know. He doesn't look like he wants to be disturbed."

"Exactly. Heh-heh," Bart said with an evil chuckle, pulling me along as he approached the man. "Excuse me, sir. I was wondering, have you ever seen, gone out with, or had sexual relations with a Mr. Waylon Smithers?"

I was too embarrassed and scared for Bart to even watch the scene. I hid behind my brother and looked away, keeping my ears perked all the while.

I heard the man's low voice answer: "Hmmm. No. I haven't. Well, perchance I've seen him. I don't know."

"Gray spiky hair, blue eyes, glasses?" Bart asked.

I looked to the man anxiously for his response. He merely emitted a puff of smoke from his mouth and shrugged. "I don't know. I just moved here. Sorry."

Annoyed, Bart took my hand and led me away. "Thanks for nothing, man!" he shouted to the man as he walked down the street.

"Bart, you don't have to be so rude," I said, discomfited by my brother's deficiency of manners.

"That guy had it coming to him," Bart tried to justify. He then saw a group of men sitting together at a table outside a café. "Ah, perfect. A whole group of them. One of them surely will give us our answer. Hey, dudes! Yeah, you guys outside the café!"

The men turned their heads towards us. One of them asked, "Yes?"

"Yeah, I was wondering, do any of you fellows know a Mr. Waylon Smithers?"

They all looked to each other, a bit surprised by Bart's sudden question. One of them looked back and nodded, "Yeah, I know Waylon. Works at the power plant downtown?"

"Yeah, that's the guy," Bart said. "How do you know him? You guys dated?" I would have been abashed by Bart's blunt prying, but my stomach was too abundant with nervous knots.

"Well, we were in the same fraternity…"

Bart interrupted, "A gay fraternity?" I nudged him in the stomach with my elbow.

The guy looked at Bart strangely. "Well, no. But yeah, we also went out couple times. What of it?"

My heart felt like sinking as Bart smiled and responded, "That's it. Thanks very much. You've been a lot of help."

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Congratulations to girlperson2235 (or Alexa :D), who was the first to correctly answer the contest question! She will be featured in the next chapter, so look for her. :) Also, congrats to Belita Girl (or Lindsay) who answered correctly and kudos to batsbutler who had an interesting guess! Just for the records, the answer was that the scene revealing that Smithers had an ex-wife in the episode "Secrets of a Successful Marriage" was parodying the play/movie "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof", in which the wife's named is Maggie. Thanks again for all the reviews!  



	11. Chapter 11

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! And a bit of shameless self-advertising: I just posted the first chapter of a new story called "Slumber Party", and I'd love if you guys checked it out:) That is all. Please enjoy the next chapter, read and review! Thank you!

Back at home, I couldn't stop thinking about that day in the forbidden part of Springfield. I couldn't get the image of Mr. Smithers and that guy together out of my mind. And I had felt guilty enough about thinking sexually of me and Mr. Smithers. But two guys? I didn't even want to know what Ned Flanders would think of my thoughts now.

I buried my head in the comforting softness of my pillows as I curled into a fetal position on my bed. _Mr. Smithers can't be gay; he just can't be. Maybe he was just experimenting with that guy. And that is actually very laudable and plausible too! Yeah, that must be it. Or maybe he's bisexual. He must be bisexual. He was married. He must have been attracted to that woman at some point… _

I almost had consoled myself with these thoughts, but then I remembered the other half of Mrs. Smithers' odd comment: "You're going for the younger set now." I closed my eyes and cringed. Could Mr. Smithers possibly be gay and in love with Mr. Burns? No. No, that wasn't possible…was it?

I decided I could not handle any more uncertainty in regards to Mr. Smithers, so accompanied by my recently attained friends--Insolence, Nosiness, and Stupidity--I strode out of my room, down the stairwell, out the door, and to Mr. Smithers' house a block away. I knocked on the large oak door, and Mr. Smithers answered almost instantaneously. He looked especially handsome, out of his customary work garments and clad in a casual, forest green tee-shirt that exposed his usually secreted, athletic form.

"Yes?" he asked before looking down and seeing me. He then smiled. "Well, hello, Miss Simpson. What are you doing here?"

"Um…I was actually just on my way somewhere and I was wondering if I could use your bathroom. Heh," I said stupidly.

Mr. Smithers nodded. "Of course, you can. Come on in."

I followed my crush into his house and took my first glance around the place. He had beautifully decorated it, as he did the ballroom where we shared our dance. My stomach hurt with impending heartbreak at the memory. I saw pictures of his parents, friends, and ex-wife stacked on shelves around the family room, but the most abundant pictures were those of him and Mr. Burns. I grew more anxious by the moment.

Mr. Smithers sat down on a deep purple-hued, velvet couch and opened a long, thick novel. "The bathroom is down the hallway, third door to the right," he told me with a smile. I smiled back frailly and watched him for a few seconds as he read. Then an image of Mr. Smithers and the man we met in gay Springfield making out on that very couch invaded my head and then the man turned into Mr. Burns and I almost screamed. But instead, I just took a deep breath and tried to find the bathroom.

After stalling in the bathroom for a minute or two, I meandered back out into the family room, where Mr. Smithers looked completely focused on his reading, his brow furrowed, his eyes rapidly following the words on the page as one line ended and the other began. I didn't want to disturb this beautiful state, one I was well familiar with, but I knew what I came here to do.

"Um…Mr. Smithers?"

Mr. Smithers looked up, surprised, drawn out of his trance. "Oh. Yes, Miss Simpson? Did you find the bathroom all right?"

"Um, yes. Thank you. Uh…" I looked around me, losing my courage quickly as he stared at me. Then I noticed across the room was a gargantuan Malibu Stacy collection, and this honestly took me aback. "Mr. Smithers, you have quite the collection of Malibu Stacy dolls! I've never seen anything like it!"

Mr. Smithers looked over at his collection and grinned. "You're a fan too?" He put his book down and led me over to get a closer look.

"Oh, am I!" I exclaimed, my eyes unblinking as they gazed over each doll. "Oh, is that the new Alexa model?! I've been searching everywhere for her! She's so exclusive!"

"Yes, that's her. I was the first one to get my hands on her," Mr. Smithers said proudly. He then looked at me with a bit of apprehension. "I don't usually do this, but…would you like to play with her?"

I beamed. "I would love that! Thank you, Mr. Smithers!"

"No hay de que," he replied with a chuckle, as he opened his glass cabinet and gingerly handed me the doll. I stared at her gorgeous, smiling face and wished I could share the expression. But instead, I looked up at Mr. Smithers with a disheartened countenance. I hesitated and then just asked: "Mr. Smithers, are you gay?"


	12. Chapter 12

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! And a bit of shameless self-advertising: I just posted the first chapter of a new story called "Slumber Party", and I'd love if you guys checked it out:) That is all. Please enjoy the next chapter, read and review! Thank you!

Mr. Smithers stood frozen in his stance, staring at me with unblinking eyes and a frighteningly unchanging expression. "What?" he asked, his expression still fixed.

I couldn't control my palms growing clammy, and I just hoped the sweat wouldn't mar Mr. Smithers' doll. "Um…are you homosexual?"

Mr. Smithers' expression changed then, and I don't know I was relieved by the alteration or not. He looked like a bomb, desperately wanting to explode, but attempting not to do so. "That is a very inappropriate question for you to ask me, Miss Simpson," he replied, calmly but evidently furiously.

"I'm sorry, but I was just wondering…"

"It's none of your business!" shouted Mr. Smithers, his composure lost to rage. I backed away a bit, scared, as he continued, "Don't you get that? You can't just waltz into people's lives and expect them to offer up everything that is personal to them. It doesn't work that way."

I held back tears of embarrassment, remorse, and heartbreak. "I thought we were friends," I attempted, my voice broken like my heart.

Mr. Smithers turned his back to me. "Well, I don't know."

"If we're friends?"

"If I'm…well…" Mr. Smithers started. Then he shook his head. "I can't talk to you about this. You're just a little girl. You shouldn't have asked me that question, and I can't answer it."

I looked down. "I thought you were different."

"What?"

"I thought that maybe you saw that I'm not an eight-year-old," I began slowly. "I'm just stuck in the body of one." Mr. Smithers looked at me with big, uncertain puppy dog eyes beneath the hard frames of his glasses. I continued, "I thought we had a connection, but…I guess I was just a fool. I'm sorry I disrupted your life." And I truly was sorry. I had no right to think that just because I saw myself in Mr. Smithers, that he would see himself in me. I had no right to assume my love was requited in any way, shape, or form.

I handed Mr. Smithers his doll. "Thank you for letting me hold it." I looked up at him. "At least for a little while."

I turned away and walked out the door as quickly as I could so Mr. Smithers wouldn't see the tear that just wouldn't stay encased behind my eye as it formed a rivulet down my cheek. I trudged home, grief-stricken by the loss of so much. I supposed I truly was alone in Springfield after all.

As I walked home, I spied some children from my class, playing street hockey, with smiles plastered on their faces so massive even the sharpest needle and thickest thread could not sew them into frowns similar to mine.

What was I thinking? Mr. Smithers had his own friends and love interests. He didn't need me to be either to him. Maybe he was once alone like me, but obviously as much as we seemed alike, we were two different people with two very different lives. _Some lives are just not meant to intertwine_, I thought despondently.

"Hey, Lis, what's up?" I looked to my side as I began to cross the driveway of my house and saw Bart shooting hoops.

I sighed. "Nothing really. You?"

"Just waiting for Milhouse to get here. Want to shoot hoops with me?"

I shrugged and approached my brother. He threw the ball to me and then noticed my desolate expression. "Something the matter?"

I shrugged again and bounced the ball. Bart looked at me curiously. "What? Did you find out Mr. Smithers is gay for sure, or something?"

"Worse. I found out that whether he's gay or straight or bi or confused, it doesn't matter." I looked up at my brother sadly. "He doesn't want me as his friend."


	13. Chapter 13

Bart canceled his plans with Milhouse so that he could try to cheer me up with an afternoon of ice cream and Itchy and Scratchy reruns. But as soon as my mom saw me, she told Bart to go ahead and play with Milhouse for a while. She wanted to talk to me.

"Yes, Mom? Is everything all right?" I asked apprehensively. She had this rare look on her face that always scared me; her customary smile was gone and her usually opulent eyes swam with bottomless worry.

"Well, everything is all right with me. But I get the feeling that you couldn't say the same thing," she said, putting her hand tenderly on my shoulder.

I looked down. "What makes you say that?"

"A mother always knows," my mom said. "Lisa, your mood swings have been very extreme. Sometimes you're delirious and sometimes you're depressed, and if I didn't know better, I'd say you were in love."

My heart hurt at my mom's statement, and I guessed that I really couldn't fight telling her anymore, even though I couldn't look at her as I did. I sighed. "I guess you're right, Mom. I kind of am in love."

My mom tried hide her shock and dismay. "Well, I…with who, Lisa?"

"'With whom', actually, and well…this is going to sound pretty crazy but…uh…" _Just get the name out there. You'll feel better when you just tell her. _"Um…Mr. Smithers."

"Mr. Smithers?!" My mom's veil of peace with the situation had vanished. "Mr. Smithers? Your father's boss?"

"Heh. Um. Yeah. Could you try to keep your voice lower, please?" I asked, desperately wanting my dad to be kept in the dark about my infatuation. I couldn't even imagine what he would think.

"Lisa, Mr. Smithers is 40 years older than you," my mom said, shaken.

"35, actually," I corrected. "And it's not like I expected anything to happen." _Well, maybe a little. _"It's just…oh, Mom, we have so much in common, and you know how rare it is for me to find someone I can really relate to. Sometimes I think I'm the only one here who really cares about art and culture and seeking beauty, but Mr. Smithers does too, and well...I found these unexpected connections to him."

My mom groaned in uncertainty and looked at me agitatedly. "Well, I understand that perfectly. I do. It is difficult to meet people like that, and I think it's wonderful that you have. But you must realize that it can only be friendship, right?"

"Of course, I realize that," I lied.

"Is that the problem? Or is it something else?"

I hesitated. "Well, I kind of…snuck my big nose in his business and now he doesn't want to even be my friend."

"Oh, Lisa, what happened?" asked my mom.

Wanting to crumble from mortification, I replied slowly, "I kind of, well, asked him if he…well…'preferred the company of men', as you like to say."

My mom's eyes widened in surprise as she put her hands to her cheeks. "Lisa! Why would you do that?"

"Because his ex-wife made some suggestive comments at the dance and then Bart and I met this guy who claims to have dated him," I said honestly but quickly.

"Why would a man approach you and tell you that?" my mother asked, bewildered.

_Oh, God... _"He didn't really. We kind of approached him."

"What?"

I shut my eyes and cringed. "We were down in the gay community of Springfield and well, Bart just asked him…"

That was likely the last straw. My mom now imitated my penultimate action, closing her eyes and wincing. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to look at me. I waited for her to get angry with me for my complete lack of appropriateness, but before she could, I said, "I'm sorry for what I did, Mom. I embarrassed myself and my family, and I regret ever having these feelings, but I can't help it."

My mom looked at me first with an unreadable expression, but then she put her arms around me and said softly, "Lisa, love makes us do the craziest things. It makes us completely lose sight of logic and sense, but that's part of what makes it such a magical experience. Please don't ever regret having those feelings, my sweetheart. Be thankful for them; they don't come around too often."

I smiled and hugged my mom tighter. "Thanks, Mom," I whispered. "I guess I don't regret this experience, but I do regret damaging my friendship with Mr. Smithers."

My mom hesitated, probably trying to find the right words. "Everything happens for a reason, Lisa. I know it's a cliché, and I know how you hate clichés, but it's true. If you and Mr. Smithers really do have a connection, he'll come around to see it eventually."

I nodded slowly and hoped desperately that she was right. A minute later, our doorbell rang, and my mom went to answer it. Although she only left my side for a moment, I felt instantly alone again. I just wanted her to come back and kiss away my tears. Throughout the whole ordeal, Bart had been there for me, now my mom, and I know my dad would have been if he had known. Maybe I wasn't so totally alone in Springfield…but it just wasn't the same.

"Lisa, there's someone here to see you," my mom called from the living room.

I sniffled. "If it's Janie, tell her I'm not feeling good and that I'll give her a call later."

"Miss Simpson?" the voice came much softer than usual. I looked up to see Mr. Smithers standing next to my mom, looking very unselfconfident and contrite. "Do you think we could talk for a minute?"


	14. Chapter 14

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: This is the final chapter of the story, and I just wanted to thank all my readers and all my reviewers from the bottom of my heart. You have all motivated and inspired me to continue writing this story, and each of you means a great deal to me. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) I also hope you follow me as I embark on other stories, for I will be sure to follow yours! Thank you again so much, and enjoy the last segment of "Unexpected Connections".

"Yeah, yeah, of course we can talk," I stammered as I jumped off the couch anxiously. I felt like I couldn't breathe; I was so unprepared to see Mr. Smithers again that day, to see him again anytime soon, and there he was. Standing in my living room, wanting to talk to me. It was so surreal and wonderful and frightening and I wasn't sure how to deal with the situation. It had always been I who sought Mr. Smithers out before, excluding the one time he called me on the phone, which was scary in its own right, but it wasn't like this.

I took a deep breath and asked, "Um…do you want to talk in my room?"

Mr. Smithers paused. "Uh, sure."

The awkwardness of the event was only worsened by my mom's presence, especially now that I had confessed all those humiliating things to her. But she just smiled faintly as we paced upstairs. I still wasn't sure if a smile was warranted, however. I really had no idea what Mr. Smithers would say.

We spoke not a word on our way up until I opened the door and we walked inside. We both stood there, looking at everything in the room but each other, until I took a seat on the edge of my bed and invited Mr. Smithers to do the same. He did, and then the silence resumed its supremacy for a few minutes longer.

"So…I…guess it seems like I've been doing a lot of things wrong lately," Mr. Smithers finally said. "I find myself constantly apologizing to you, and well, I hate the fact that I've done anything that I should be apologizing for, but it's the truth, and I guess this isn't really making much sense, but I just wanted to say…" He slowed his speech and looked at me forlornly. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Thank you, Mr. Smithers," I said softly. "But you had every right to be upset. I didn't mean to invade your privacy, I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable or offended, and yet, that's what I did. Several times now." I looked away. "It's no wonder you didn't want me as your friend."

"But Miss Simpson, I did. And I do," Mr. Smithers corrected ardently. I turned my face back to him. "Lisa, I never had children of my own. And I probably never will. But as I got to know you, I began almost considering you something like my daughter."

Taken aback, I replied, "Oh, well…Mr. Smithers, I already have a father. I wanted…well, a friend. Or maybe something more." I looked up at him, both praying he understood what I was trying to say and hoping he didn't.

I could tell from the expression on his face that he did understand. And now I waited, my heart racing, for a response. "Oh…" he began nervously. "Well, I didn't realize." He turned away from me and looked around my room tensely. "Are you saying you wanted a…" he started. He looked back at me, though it seemed like it pained him to do so. "Um…a romantic…relationship?"

I was tempted to refute it, but I found that I couldn't. All I could do was nod and try to internally calm the commotion in my heart.

Mr. Smithers put his elbows on his knees and his hands on his face. He spoke delicately. "Miss Simpson, you know that we can't have that type of relationship, don't you?"

I looked down. I knew it was coming. I knew there was no way he would reciprocate my desires, but it still hurt me deeply. "Well, yes, I did. But I don't know. I just thought…I don't even know anymore."

Silence prevailed.

"Miss Simpson, I'm sorry I've been so insensitive to your feelings. I didn't know…"

"It's okay," I quickly said, a blaze of fire tones in all probability being set upon my usually yellow face. I was embarrassed enough admitting my crush to my crush, I didn't need him to make it worse by apologizing for his unawareness about it.

"Well, Lisa, I'm 43-years-old, and even if you were my age, you'd deserve someone much better than me."

"I doubt that there is anyone that is," I confessed abashedly.

Mr. Smithers smiled bashfully and blushed. "I bet you say that to all the boys," he joked.

"What other boys? You're the only one I can relate to."

The smile that was Mr. Smithers' face disappeared at this comment. "Miss Simpson, I understand the feeling of just wanting to be older because you know in your heart that you are. I went through it when I was your age, and I guess I am still going through it, because to be honest with you, people like us seldom find one place or time where we belong. That's why kindred spirits have to stick together. And even though we can't possibly be anything more than friends, I still want us to be friends."

I nodded solemnly. "I would like that very much."

"The problem is…I just…don't know if I can be the kind of friend you want. I don't know if I can tell you things about myself that a normal friend could and should." He then sighed. "I want to, Lisa. But I…I'm pretty screwed up, and I don't want to taint your idealism."

"Mr. Smithers, I may be young in years, but I see the world for what it is. Whatever idealism I may have is not because I overlook faults in the world, in people…it's because I know that these faults are only natural parts of living. They can be tolerated. They can be meliorated. They exist, but they make the world what it is," I argued. If I couldn't have Mr. Smithers as my love interest, I needed him to be the next best thing: a real friend.

Mr. Smithers dithered for a moment. "Maybe that's true, but I…if I were to expose you to things that an 8-year-old shouldn't be exposed to, I would just…well, I couldn't do that." We both sat in silence for a few moments longer, until Mr. Smithers continued, "But you can tell me things if you want. I could be a one-way confidant, if you'd like."

I hesitated. _What was the point of having a confidant that doesn't confide you in back?_ I wondered. But still, it was better than nothing. I wanted Mr. Smithers in my life one way or the other. "I suppose if that's the only kind of friendship you're comfortable with offering me, I'll have to take it."

We sat on the bed, both of us dejected by the turn of events and the less than desired outcome. That is, until Mr. Smithers suddenly turned to me and said, "You know what, Miss Simpson? The hell with society's standards. We have a connection, and we owe it to ourselves to be real friends."

I could swear my heart literally inflated. "You mean it?"

"I do," he said, smiling, looking positively invigorated. "I mean, I love Mr. Burns, but I can't tell him some things that I should be able to tell a normal friend."

"That's how I feel about my peers and usually my family. As much as I love them, they just don't understand some things…"

"And it's not their fault. It's just…well, the connection is different," Mr. Smithers finished flawlessly. "Not so unexpected yet not so perfect either."

"Exactly." I looked up at Mr. Smithers and we smiled unanimously, blissful in our bond.

"What do you say we go out for ice cream and then hit the new Malibu Stacy musical?" Mr. Smithers asked, hopping off my bed.

"That sounds wonderful!" I exclaimed.

"That reminds me…" Mr. Smithers said, reaching into a small sack I just now realized he had brought. "I want you to have this. As a symbol of our friendship."

Mr. Smithers handed me the Alexa doll. I gasped. "Oh, Mr. Smithers, no. I could never take her from you!"

"You can, and you will," he responded, smiling.

I hesitated and beamed back. "Oh, thank you."

"You're very welcome, my friend. Now we should get going. The musical starts at 6." I placed my new doll affectionately on my shelf. It was so beautiful and rare. Just like our friendship. I knew I would later grieve the loss of hope of a romance with Mr. Smithers, but for now, I was purely happy.

Mrs. Hoover might have been right when she told me that everything couldn't always end up just the way I wanted it to. But I realized that maybe what fate gave me was even better than any desire my young heart could fabricate.

THE END


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